


Comfort, Real and Imagined

by ava_jamison



Category: Batman (Comics), DC - Fandom, Nightwing (Comic), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-11
Updated: 2010-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_jamison/pseuds/ava_jamison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No Man's Land and Tim's in trouble. Dick helps out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort, Real and Imagined

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sistermagpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sistermagpie/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, [](http://sistermagpie.livejournal.com/profile)[**sistermagpie**](http://sistermagpie.livejournal.com/)!

**Title:** [Comfort, Real and Imagined](http://ava-jamison.livejournal.com/89624.html)  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Fandom:** DC  
 **Characters:** Nightwing, Robin  
 **Disclaimer:** not mine  
 **Word Count:** 2200  
 **Continuity:** Takes place not long after Dick and Tim return to No Man's Land.  
 **Note:** Happy Birthday, [](http://sistermagpie.livejournal.com/profile)[**sistermagpie**](http://sistermagpie.livejournal.com/)!

  
Tim was warm—so warm, and the manor was warm—Alfred had fired up the furnace—it must have been fixed after the earthquake. Dick’s bedroom was perfect again too—posters of the Flying Graysons, college pennants, pictures of Bruce and of Batman, an autographed picture of Superman that was curling at the corners. All exactly as they’d been before, even if he’d only glimpsed things this time, because Dick—Nightwing, actually, and Tim didn’t have time to even question the “No uniforms past the cave rule”—because Nightwing hauled him into his old room and skinned his gauntlets off so fast everything was a blur. Rough and urgent, and then Dick was pulling at his boots, chucking them, muddy as they were, across thick carpeting and hauling him up again.

He heard running water, somewhere, and realized he must be in Dick’s bathroom now, but it was so dark that he couldn’t see everything, or maybe it was just so… comforting to be carried—held close and lowered into a tub of cool water.

The bath was cold, but his body felt warm, hot even, and Dick’s hands were cooling. Cooling and nice, sliding over him, over and over. He surrendered to them, big and bare, sliding over his suit—why was he taking a bath with his uniform on?

“Tim!” A voice said, and it sounded like Dick, but it couldn’t be Dick. He’d never heard Dick so scared. “Tim,” he said again, coming from somewhere far away.

Tim dragged his eyes open, tried to focus. “Your bathtub’s so small, Dick,” he finally said, mumbled and slow.

Dick snorted at him, reaching for the catches to his suit. “Yeah, Tim. Sorry about that.” Dick’s fingers found the clasps holding his tunic and pulled. Wet spandex and Kevlar slipped from Tim’s naked chest with a weird slurping noise loud enough for him to hear even over the running water and the blood buzzing—so loud—in his brain. Dick hung the fabric over the edge of the tub and reached for his leggings, gentle fingers hooking under his waistband.

Tim had to shudder a little at the intimacy, letting his head loll back. It hit the on the tub with a metal clang.

“Careful, Tim,” Dick said. “Be still.” His hands worked Robin’s tights down. “No, wait—I mean, lift your butt.”

“What?”

“Butt,” Dick snapped, like he was talking to an idiot. And maybe he was, because it took eons for Tim to put the directive together with an action. So long that Dick gave up and did it himself, leaning over into the tub to wrap a strong arm around his waist and lift while he yanked with his other hand.

“Backwards,” Tim finally said, as Nightwing drew the tights all the way off, supporting his bent knees before letting his bared feet splash back into the water. And why was Dick’s tub so small he had to keep his knees bent? The manor had really nice bathrooms, but this… he blinked at the dim space he was in, dirty and dank. “Backwards,” he said again, like that explained everything.

“Wrong place?” Dick wrung out something in the water next to him. “We’re not in the manor, Robin.”

“Supposed to strip _before_ taking a bath.”

“Yeah, well,” Dick said, wiping a cloth across Tim’s forehead, but it wasn’t right—wasn’t the color of Dick’s towels at all. Nobody at the manor used red and white checkered linens, unless maybe Alfred kept one for a patio picnic. Dick swiped the thing over his cheeks. “Whatever they hit you with, it hit hard.” He sat back on his heels, still hovering against the tub. “Scared me, little brother.”

It was dark, but when Dick leaned close enough, Tim could see worry on his face. Nightwing’s domino was creased with a line, between his eyebrows. He reached out to touch it.

Dick swatted his hand away. “Hey, don’t poke me in the eye! We can’t both be down!”

“Not down. Just…”

“Just taking a bath? Nice bathtub, huh?”

“What?” Tim tried to process, staring at the rusted metal washtub. “Too… rustic,” was all that he could come up with.

Dick’s lip quirked. “A little too… utility closet, too.” He turned off the tap.

“Where are we?” It came out slow and clumsy.

“Don’t you remember?” Dick rewet the cloth and pressed it, softly, over Tim’s jaw.

The sting made Tim flinch.

“Shh, Timmy,” Dick said, doing it again. “Just a nick. I think I washed most of the poison out. Drink this.” He twisted the top off a half-filled water bottle and lifted it to Tim’s lips. Most of what Dick poured in spilled out over his chin. “Hey! Close your mouth, Robin. Swallow.”

Tim forced his mouth to close, his tongue to engage.

“They got you right on your jaw. Some kind of drugged projectile,” Dick said, sloshing water from the bottle over Tim’s cut.

“Hey, that’s cold,” Tim said, still speaking through lips that felt like rubber.

It was enough to get a smile from Dick, though. “At least you’re complaining now. That’s an improvement over the last forty-five minutes.”

Tim tried to make his mouth cooperate better, form the words more carefully, less slurred. “What’s going on?” It was bad enough to be like this—but it was really harder to give up the dream that had held him up until now. The manor had been so perfect.

“What do you think’s going on?” Dick’s eyes were playful. He rolled up his uniform’s sleeve to expose a bare forearm and pressed it lightly to Tim’s forehead, then his cheek. “I think your fever’s finally breaking.”

“Then can we get out of this… utility closet?”

“Not tonight, kiddo. We’re in a side branch of the old subway system.”

“I thought I was in the manor.” Even as he said it, Tim knew how dumb it sounded.

But Dick didn’t give him a hard time, just nodded. “I know you did.” He scooped a handful of water and let it trickle down on Tim’s exposed upper chest. “You talk in your sleep—fever—whatever that was.”

Tim's mind drifted to the dream he’d been having, before he woke back up in No Man’s Land, and hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Bet you do too.”

Dick raised a sly eyebrow at him. “Pretty sure I don’t talk about somebody named Ariane.”

“Is that what I—I said _Ariane_ ?”

“Didn’t you go check on her at the shelter yesterday?”

“Well, yes but—”

“Whoever she was, it was somebody you like.” Dick shrugged. “And I mean _really_ like.” Smiling, he scooped up water, letting it trickle over Tim’s chest. “You took her to my bedroom, Romeo.”

“I did?” Tim was glad for the semi-darkness. And cold water.

“Guess she’s pretty hot, huh? Your _fever_ made talk about her.” Dick winked at him. “All yes, baby, _yes_ .”

“Really? _Baby_?” Tim raised an eyebrow. “Can I get out of here yet?”

“Five more minutes. You were pretty gone there, Tim.”

“Now I’m freezing, though.”

“Good. At least you’re not burning up anymore. And it’s not any warmer out here.”

“Well _somebody_ got my suit all wet.”

“Yeah, there’s the old Timmy snark. Knew you were coming back around.” Dick ran a hand over Tim’s jaw. “Your cut’s not so angry looking.”

“Do I need stitches?”

“Nah, just grazed you. You’re still beautiful.”

“Dick!”

Dick reached for something. It was a torn, old tablecloth. “Here.” He held out his arms. “Your lips do look kind of blue. Come on.”

Tim tried to stand, but his body wasn’t listening. Dick’s hands on his shoulders helped, until they slipped, and he landed back in the water with a splash.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, Dick.”

“My fault, Timmy.” Dick hooked his hands under Tim’s armpits. “Ready?” he said, breath warm against Tim’s damp hair.

“Ready.”

Dick hauled him up, wrapping the red and white checkered fabric around him. “Try to balance here—I’ll help you.” He supported him with one hand while he grabbed something else—an old dropcloth or something.

“Ew. It’s dirty,” Tim said as Dick roughly dried him with it.

“Toughen up, soldier.”

Dick’s Batman impersonation shocked a staccato laugh out of Tim.

Gentler, Dick continued. “I’m trying to hurry, and we won’t let it touch your cut. Come here.” Dick pulled him off the edge and into his arms. “You’re shaking.”

Tim froze, alarm bells going off. “I can’t…”

“What?” Dick said, pulling him with him. He kicked some refuse out of their way and settled down into a sitting position, splaying Tim across his thighs. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I—”

“S’okay, Timmy boy. I remember being sixteen.” Dick was speaking into his hair, and he couldn’t see his smile, but he could hear it in his voice. “And you need the body heat. Don’t want to save you from some poison and lose you to hypothermia, little brother.”

Tim tried to pull away.

“Are you crazy? You’re shivering like you’re in a blizzard, Tim. Come here.” Dick yanked him closer, wrapping his arms around Tim’s shoulders.

Tim had never been so grateful for a single piece of dirty cloth, protecting his body from somebody else’s. Not that it hid much. Then Dick shifted, and he had to pull back a little, as much as he could, in Dick’s strong grasp.

“Stop it.” Dick lifted Tim’s chin to look him in the eye. “You’re sixteen, a healthy guy and you just had a dream about your girlfriend. And oh! You’re blushing!”

Still holding his lower body all of an inch away from Nightwing’s crotch, Tim buried his face against his shoulder. “Easy for you to say.”

Dick ruffled his hair. “I said,” he said, “that I remember being sixteen too. And believe me, Tim…” he waited until Tim looked up at his grinning face to finish the sentence. “You’ve got _nothing_ to be ashamed of.”

“Dick!” With a groan, Tim hid his face again, cradling his flaming cheek against the place where Dick’s neck met his shoulder.

Dick squeezed his back. “Just try to stop shaking.” He put his own face against the curve of the Tim’s throat. “Be still.” From somewhere, he grabbed Tim’s cape and laid it over the tablecloth, draping it over Tim’s shaking shoulders, and stroked his back. “There,” he said as Tim’s shivering began to subside. “That’s better. Get closer.”

Tim didn’t cooperate, so Dick did it for him, reaching for his hips.

Tim swallowed a yelp as their bodies smashed together but didn’t do anything else except breathe into Dick’s neck, smelling the scent of him, warm and sweet and so, so Dick.

Dick’s hands, stroking his back, were mesmerizing. Tim focused on the feel of them, the rhythm of his hands, and ignored every other circuit in his body that was screaming on overload. Forced himself to not let things get weirder. Willed his breath steady and even. “When can we get out of here?”

“In a few hours, I figure. Need you to be able to take on the goons with me, if we run into them again. Or at least, you know,” Dick took his chin and angled it up to see Tim’s eyes, “walk again without falling over.”

Tim rolled his eyes and then closed them. Dick was easier to take when he wasn’t talking sometimes, and for a little while, Dick complied, rubbing his back and shoulders, matching his breathing to Tim’s. His hand strayed up to stroke the back of Tim’s neck.

“You get a haircut, Robin?”

“What?” Tim shook his head, nose rubbing against Nightwing’s spandex as he tried to make sense of the words that had pulled him out of his reverie.

Dick’s thumb found the slight graze of stubble at the nape of Tim’s neck. “You did! You got a haircut,” he teased. “Only you’d come back to No Man’s Land with a fresh haircut, Timmy.”

“Nightwing,” Tim said softly, his mouth against Dick’s collarbone. “Hygiene in the field is very important.”

Dick’s chest rumbled against his as he laughed. “Pretty passable imitation, little brother.” He swept his fingers through Tim’s hair, and when he spoke again, his breath blew against the damp strands. “Guess you wanted to look good for your girlfriend, huh Timmy?”

“Shut up, Dick.”

“You gonna talk in your sleep? Let me hear the _good_ stuff this time.”

“Dick…” Tim actually did feel very, very drowsy. He relaxed against in Dick’s strong, warm embrace, turning his head to rest his cheek against Dick’s shoulder and feel Dick’s pulse thrum against his jaw.

“That’s right, Timmy,” Dick whispered, his breath soft against Tim’s hair. “Go to sleep for a few hours.”

Tim’s words came out in a tired mumble. “But what about you?”

“I’ll keep watch. I’ve got you, little brother.”  



End file.
